Retribution
by Spirited Heart
Summary: There's something in the house where Jessie Peterson moved in. At first it's harmless, until things start to go terrifyingly wrong.
1. Chapter 1

**Retribution:**

**A story of deadly revenge**

**Part One: In which an old house gets new occupants, people start to see things, and 1956 **_**Teen Idol**_** magazines turn out the be the perfect weapon**

I hated it. I hated that house the moment we pulled up the gravel driveway in our family car. I hated the windows and the way they looked at me like empty, gaping eyes. I hated the doors, which creaked whenever they were opened. I hated the floors, walls, roof, paneling, and all of the moldy pipes and cockroaches in the basement. I hated every square inch of that old place, but what I hated the most was the thing that lived in the attic.

I'm the eldest of the Peterson kids. There's me, Jessie, then Lila, and then Sarah. Sarah is the baby of the family and at only five years old she has made more friends in one year then I have in my entire life. I remember when she was born and I was eleven, everyone who came to see her would comment on how pretty she looked, and well behaved too. No one ever said those things about me, and no one ever saw the side of Sarah that I did. Sometimes she could be downright bratty! Heck, she's _always _bratty. But the second I finally have enough and smack her in the side of her head, either Ma or Pa comes in and I always get the blame.

Lila was born when I was two. I'm sixteen now, so Lila is fourteen. She sure doesn't act her age, and I mean that in the best possible way. Lila is Ma's favorite. She's quite, ladylike, and always remembers to say please and thank you, unlike me. She is skinny and frail, with pale skin and no freckles, and always remembers to wear her sunhat when she's outside. I guess I could've looked like that too, but I have more fun running around in the sun anyway.

And then there's me. You'd think that siblings would look alike, even a little bit, but that isn't the case with my sisters and me. They all have fine features; small noses, delicate fingers, and wispy hair. They both are graceful and never stomp. Calling me graceful would be like calling a charging bull harmless. My hair tangles in big knots, I bite my nails, I'm clumsy, and I always forget my manners. My nose is way out of proportion with the rest of my face. I'm not charismatic or adventurous like everyone else in my family, so I don't have any friends. I had one back in Illinois, but since we moved to upstate New York I don't see her anymore. No one really pays much attention to me, so I mostly keep to myself.

As we pulled up to the front porch, Lila and I couldn't speak. I could bet you an easy five dollars that we were both thinking the same things about this house. We were supposed to live in _there?_

"This house is ugly", Stated Sarah very loudly, "It's so dark and gloomy. Can we paint it pink?" My mom stirred in the front seat, having just been awakened by Sarah's outburst. She sighed.

"Sweat pea, you don't paint houses pink." Everyone in the car was a bit sick of each other, and I bet you would be too if you were stuck in a hot car without air conditioning and one of the most annoying five-year-olds on the planet.

"But Mommmmmm, you saidddddddd I coulddddddddd!" I could see Mom and Dad stiffen in the front seats, obviously taking the hint that Sarah wasn't happy.

"I was talking about your room, dear. Now please! Be quiet while your father and I go open up the house."

"I'll go look for the key…the landlord said it was under the doormat." My dad had been quiet the whole trip. His name was James Randolph Peterson II; quiet a big name for a little man like himself. No one ever really calls him that; they just call him Jim. He's only about 5"6, His glasses are too big for his nose, and his hair was starting to thin out. But everyone loved him anyway, even though he is a bit absent minded at times. My mom said that he had inherited that trait from my grandfather, but I wouldn't know because I've never met him. He's still alive, but my dad's family doesn't talk to him or us because dad married my mom, Loraine. She wasn't considered "The right kind".

I watched as my parents made their way up to the old front door. I tried to look up at the house from my car seat, but it was so tall that I couldn't. I think it was Victorian, one of those houses with the big mansard roofs. I remembered learning about them in history, but I didn't remember too much because I had drifted off to sleep somewhere in the middle of class. After a few seconds of contemplating this, I turned my thoughts back to the present, and then wished I hadn't. Lila and Sarah were quarreling again, and when they quarrel it's like the world quarrels too.

"Where did you put my book, Sarah?!"

"I didn't take your dumb book! I can't even read!"

"Well if you put in a little _effort_ to try, maybe you could!"

"Reading is for dummies!"

"Take that back!"

"No I don't--OWW!"

Lila had swatted Sarah with a 1956_ Teen Idols_ magazine. When the violence started, that's when I left. Naturally I didn't want to get blamed, like I so often do. I always envied Lila because she never got into trouble, and Sarah was "too innocent". Yeah right. I pushed at the rusty car door, and after a few tries it opened. A rush of humid air hit me like a fist. Why did we have to travel in mid July?

The house was even gloomier on the inside. Cobwebs were the only decoration in the house, if you didn't count the tasteless and shabby curtains, and there was an overhanging stench of mold and decay caused by decades of with neglect. The walls were cracked, and obviously the landlord had not had the idea of covering up the all too noticeable water stains. At the rate this was going, everything was just going to get worse.

"Boy! Look at the character of this old place! I'm sure you kids will have lots of fun here." My dad was always the one to be optimistic, even if there wasn't anything to be optimistic about. I'd bet you that if we were hanging off a cliff by a single thread about to fall into the crocodile-infested waters below, he'd comment on how great the weather is.

In about four hours, we had moved into the house. We didn't have much stuff, so it didn't take that long. Sarah had a fight with Lila about which bedroom they wanted, but I didn't get involved because I thought all of the rooms were cruddy anyway. When my parents asked me which room I wanted, I replied so smartly that I'd take the car and drive back to Illinois. Instead, I got stuck with the room across from the attic stairs. It had one big window next to my springy bed, but it didn't have a closet or a wardrobe. I was sitting on my poor excuse for a bed when I heard discouraged grunts coming from the hallway. Looking out, I saw that it was only my dad, trying to open the attic door.

"This door just won't budge!" he exclaimed, through gasps. His face was as red as a tomato, and by the looks of it was only going to get redder. My father was pulling on the door knob so hard that I thought it would be pulled right out and dad would go slamming into the wall behind him. But at that moment my mom came in, her face flushed from the heat outside, holding the house key.

"Try this." She said as she handed my father the key. He put it into the ancient lock, and then tried to open the door. It didn't move.

"Oh well," sighed my dad with a hint of defeat, "We don't need the attic anyway."

A few minutes later, Lila and I were in the kitchen helping mom make dinner when Sarah came in with a discouraged pout on her face.

"Mama, where'd you put my stuff?" Sarah never really did anything herself. She depended on all the rest of us like the world spun on her own personal axis, which, according to her, it did.

"I don't know, dear, where did you put it?"

"You were supposed to bring them in!" My mom, who was busy enough, turned around and asked me with her eyes to go get Sarah's stuff from the car. I mumbled a quick 'fine' and slunk out the back door. I could here Sarah's faint reply and could imagine the smug expression occupying her face at the moment, satisfied that I was the one getting her junk. I got to the car, opened the trunk, and took out the warn cardboard box labeled in barely legible five-year-old script "_Sarah_". I started humming to myself, but something made me stop. Was that…? No. It couldn't have been. I ran back to the house, trying to make myself believe that I didn't just see a child's face looking down at me through the attic window.

I burst into the kitchen, trying to catch my breath and talk at the same time. My words came out in jumbles.

"There's someone in the attic! There's someone in the attic!" I yelled franticly, not caring that I was disrupting dinner. Sarah, Mom, and Dad started cracking up, as if this was some big joke.

"I'm not kidding! I saw someone up there!" I insisted.

"Jessie," my dad said reassuringly, "there can't be anyone up there! It's locked! You probably just saw a reflection. That's all."

"I believe you Jessie." Spoke Lila very quietly. I couldn't believe my ears.

"Y-you do?"

"Sure. I saw the monster in the bathroom last week!" More laughter followed. I could feel my cheeks turning red. The more I said it, the more it seemed unreal. I decided to go with dad's explanation, and sat down to enjoy my first meal in my new home. I soon forgot about the face that I thought I saw in the attic. It wouldn't be long until it appeared again, and this time more menacingly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two: In which there are more strange events, angry parents, and a seemingly harmless necklace**

I woke at dawn. Outside the grass was covered in due, and was colored in a light pink from the reflecting sunlight. As welcoming as this sight was, I still didn't feel comfortable on this property. My first night here hadn't gone well. I had laid awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the strange sounds coming from the attic. I assured myself that it was just a squirrel, but even if it was a squirrel, it must have been pretty big.

It took Lila and I a while to wander down to the kitchen. We were groggy and still wiping the sleep out of our eyes, not to mention the heat was overpowering even at this early hour.

"Good morning!" my mom said in an overly cheery way, "I hope you slept well!" the two of us groaned. As I looked around the room, I noticed that two very important members weren't there.

"Where's dad and Sarah?" asked Lila, as it dawned on her that two of the family members were not in the already crowded kitchen.

"Your father left for his job, and I let Sarah sleep in." Well, that figures. I was mad, but if Lila was she sure had a funny way of showing it.

"Why does _she_ always get to sleep in?" Mother turned around, with an annoyed look on her face.

"Jessie, I'm shocked at you. She's your little sister! Now here," she said as she thrust a broom and dust pan into my hands, "After breakfast I want you to sweep up all the rooms on the second floor, and Lila, I want you to rake the yard. We're going to make this house the talk of the town!" Then, at the perfect moment, plaster fell from the ceiling. "Well," she continued, as a bit of her optimism wore off, "we'll try." Seeing as there was no escape from this unfortunate chore, I sat down on the rickety chair and ate my cereal for a dismal breakfast.

The state of the first guest bedroom was appalling. Dust bunnies were littering the floor, there was no intact furniture, and a thick layer of dust covered everything that wasn't protected by a white linen cloth. But the strangest thing in the room had to be the little jewelry box sitting on the warn dresser. When I opened it, expecting to find a great treasure, was only rewarded with a small necklace with a flower charm on it. The flower was blood red, Sarah's favorite color, and was placed in the middle of a shiny silver chain. _I'd bet Sarah would like this, _I thought, so I stashed it in my pocket to give to her later.

"Why do I have to do this?", I complained to no one in particular, feeling very sorry for myself. "Sarah should be doing this, not me--" from my gaze through the clouded glass window, I could see Sarah out on the front lawn. I noted right away that mom must not have woken her, as she was still in her pink nightgown. As I looked even closer, I noticed that she was talking to someone, but all that was in front of her was empty space. _That's odd_, I thought to myself, _she hates imaginary friends. Oh well. It must be one of those little kid things. _I then started working on the large task before me.

By the time I had finished it was suppertime. Dad had returned home from his job as an accountant. I had always wondered why people needed someone else to count their money. After all, father never enjoyed his job. Someone bigger then he always bossed him around, and knowing dad, it wouldn't be different in this new town.

The supper that night was simple; clam chowder, green beans, and milk. I didn't enjoy it that much, and I knew Sarah didn't either, as I could see her sneaking the green beans into a mouse hole in the wall. I had given her the necklace earlier, and she had loved it. It was on her neck right now. Soon I wished I had never found that necklace at all.

Several hours later, I was awakened by my father shaking my violently.

"Get up! Jessie, get up right now! You are in deep trouble, young lady!" as soon as my eyes focused, I soon wished that they hadn't. Dad's face was a red as a tomato, and topped with his red hair made it look like his head was on fire.

"w-What's going on?" I asked quietly, not knowing what the heck was happening.

"Don't play stupid with me! If you don't remember doing it then let's go look, shall we!" He grabbed my wrist and pulled me down the stairs, stomping so hard that I thought the stairs would break. When we got to the kitchen I couldn't believe my eyes. What had happened here? Broken glass, wood, and plastic littered the floor, along with the contents of the refrigerator. The milk carton had been smashed, and milk was trickling like small rivers in all directions. Lila's jewelry had been broken and beads were all over the floor. in the middle of it all was my baseball cap, perched on the decapitated head of Sarah's favorite teddy bear. I was speechless. They were blaming this whole mess on _me?_ My eyes turned to mom, who was angrier (if that was even possible) then dad. She spoke in an icy, menacing tone.

"Jessie, I don't know why you did this. I only know that it was stupid, and sick." My attention was drawn to muffled cries in the corner, where I saw Lila and Sarah. Lila was crying her heart out over her lost jewelry, but strangely Sarah was quiet.

"we will think of a punishment, Jessie," she continued, "But first thing tomorrow you will clean this mess up. Are we clear?" I said a barely audible yes.

"I said, ARE WE CLEAR?"

"YES!!"

"Good. And don't use that tone with me, young lady!" And so, I walked up the stairs very confused, and wondering what had started this whole thing.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part Three: In Which the imaginary friend becomes all too real**

During my time cleaning up the kitchen, Sarah would sit around and talk to her imaginary friend, whom she called "Harriet". It was a bit unnerving, as there was no one there, but she still talked as if there was.

"How are you today? Me too. I'm cold. Are you lonely? Really? So am I. What room was yours? No way! That's my room too! Did you have any siblings? They died? That's sad. I have too sisters. Their names are Jessie and Lila."

"Uh…Sarah? Who're you talking to?"

"Harriet."

"Who's Harriet?"

"This was her house. She used to live here. She used to live in the attic. "Well, that was strange, but I paid no mind to it because overall, Sarah had become stranger and stranger each day after we moved here. She had a strange fascination with the year 1893. And the attic. She was obsessed with the attic.

Two days after the strange happenings, I was dusting out the crevices in the kitchen. There, by the window hidden behind a cupboard, I found a little door. It was only about six inches wide, with a little doorknob and was painted the same faded yellow as the rest of the kitchen. I decided to open the door; I figured I would eventually, so why not now? As I did, dust was freed into the air, and I struggled to breathe. When I finally got back to my senses, I could see the contains of the hidden door. A single faded photograph. There was a stern looking man and a malicious looking young girl, about the age of five or six. She was wearing a while pinafore, with dark stockings and brown lace-up boots. Her hair was untidy, blonde hairs were scattered in all directions. She looked like a servant, even though the man standing next to her was impeccably dressed. They were obviously father and daughter. The only finery that she wore was a blood-red flower necklace on her thin neck. I turned to the back of it and attached to the picture was a yellow newspaper article out of a local newspaper. I could only make out one paragraph, which read:

"_This picture was taken only days before Mr. Nathaniel Watson's daughter was murdered and he disappeared without a trace. Police were called in after neighbors stated that they had not seen Mr. Watson in a week. Detectives found the murdered girl's body in the attic, and officials say she was strangled to death. The Detectives presume that the father, a famed and rich doctor of upper New York, was the culprit. However, due to his disappearance, there cannot be any trial until he is either found or captured. The girls name was--._"

And that's where the rip in the newspaper was. I heard the kitchen door slam, and I hoped that it wasn't mom or dad. Sarah walked in, with no expression on her face, and stood behind me, looking intently at the picture.

"That's Harriet." She whispered, and then walked away.

I was stunned. How could Sarah possibly know this girls name? I had to find out. I sprinted after Sarah, who was walking towards the woods.

"Sarah, how did you know that this is Harriet?" I stammered as I reached my sister.

"Because I am Harriet. Harriet is me." She replied, her eyes gazing at something that I couldn't see.

"Sarah," I commanded as I shook her, "Harriet isn't real! She doesn't exist! Stop living in your little fantasy world, and admit that you made her up."

Suddenly, Sarah's eyes turned dark, like the sky before a hurricane. She spoke in icy, angry tones.

"Harriet says she doesn't like you. She doesn't like how you don't think she's real. Harriet doesn't want you in this house anymore, Jessie. Harriet wants you to suffer like the way she suffered. Harriet wants you to feel pain. Harriet wants you to die." Then I felt a small pair of invisible hands close around my neck, and everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Four: In which there are unexplained disappearances, a death, and Harriet gets the last laugh**

I became conscious again just after it became night. I usually love this time, and consider it magical. It was not magical to me now, as I was trying to get over the fact that I was just attacked by something, or someone, that I couldn't see. Scrambling up the hill and towards the house, I could only make out the outlines. I was tripping over my own feet, and thinking about what the heck was going on and where did Sarah go when—THUD—I fell flat on my face. I couldn't get up, I had sprained one of my ankles by the feel of it, and my mouth was full of dirt and weeds. I groaned, and tried to lift myself up. After a couple of tries, I started moving, limping quickly, towards the house. I had some questions that I wanted answered.

As I neared the house, I could here my mother's muffled cries, and my dad's comforting words. Looking into the window, I could see my mom sitting on the chair and crying her heart out. _They must be wondering where I am, _I thought to myself. I opened the door and eased myself in, not wanting to hurt myself any further.

I was greeted by my parents, who had become frightened after I didn't come home for dinner. But I learned, much to my concern, that I wasn't the only one missing.

"Oh Jessie," my Mother sobbed between gasps, "have you seen Sarah? She…she…hasn't come home! We tried to call the police, but…but…the phone wires had been cut…" _Harriet, _I immediately thought. I had begun to believe in her after she nearly choked me to death. Who wouldn't?

"Where's Lila?" I asked.

"She's upstairs in her room," replied my dad, "she wanted to take a rest and read—" but my dad's words were abruptedly ended by my sister's shrill screams.

We all ran up the stairs, shouting her name and trying to get a reply. When we got to the top of the stairs, the attic door was wide open. Lila had gone into the attic. My parents made me go up there, while they searched the rest of the house for Lila. I reluctantly climbed the rickety stairs, and each step creaked as if they were telling me to get out. The attic was large, with enough cobwebs to stretch to the moon and back. It was filled with objects from the past; a wedding dress, a gas-powered lamp, and many photographs of the same girl and her family. The first was of a happy blonde-haired toddler, a smiling mother, and a solemn looking father. The next was of the same child, now older, looking depressed, with her father behind her, smiling bitterly. The mother wasn't there. The next photograph was even more puzzling. The girl was alone. The father wasn't there, the mother wasn't there, and she was just by herself. She was angry this time. She wasn't dressed as well as the first picture, she was shabby and scrawny. Then something strange happened. I could feel what the girl was thinking. Her thoughts came to me like a wave. _"My step-father killed my mother… It was him… He treated me like a slave...he treated me like I didn't exist… And then he killed me… But I had my revenge… He got what he deserved…" _

"Jessie?" it was undeniably the voice of Sarah. I wheeled around, about to hug my sister, but I shrieked in horror. Instead of my sister there was a little girl, right in front of me, with white skin, blood red eyes, and sharp teeth. It was Harriet. I screamed and she disappeared. I wanted to get out of there, to run for my life, but I had to find Lila. I knew she was in this attic! I ran panting to the other side of the room and there, I found myself staring into the lifeless eyes of Lila, still wide with shock. My sister was dead. At that moment I heard a soft, childish laugh by my ear.

"You loose."

That night was July 18th, 1955. It was the worst night of my life, and I'll never forget it.


	5. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_We moved out of the house in the spring of '57. My parents couldn't bear to live in a house that had caused them two of their daughter's lives. Lila was buried in the cemetery down by the post office in town. There was no explanation for her death; the doctors had said she was fit as humanly possible, and we all figured that she died of shock. We never found Sarah. We had spent many months searching the woods for her, and then for her body after we figured she had died. _

_I was glad to be out of that house. When we moved back to Illinois, I could live without fear of Harriet. Quite a luxury after I had lived in that house, even for a short amount of time. Then, a couple years after mom and dad died of natural causes, I read a bout a family that had moved into an old mansion. They had three daughters, and one of them had seen a face in the attic window. As I finished reading the newspaper the phone rang. I got up to answer it, but when I did, no one was on the other line. When I looked at the Calendar, I realized it was July 18__th__, 1993. That was the day when Lila died fifty years before. Little did I know it was the 100__th__ anniversary of Harriet's murder. But I knew, somewhere in the world, that Harriet was still out there, planning to kill those who lived the life that she never got to live. _


End file.
